to live not too far from Centennial Park, the inner eastern suburbs park that stretched out over four hundred and fifty acres and had extensive horse-riding facilities.
She had a deal with the owner of a beautiful thoroughbred chestnut gelding named Flynn that she rode every weekend. Flynn was loved by his owner, who couldn’t exercise him as much as the horse needed, so it worked out well for both of them.
One day she would have that countryside cottage with enough land for a horse. And a dog. In the meantime she made the best of riding Flynn.
She didn’t know when she’d get to ride him again on a Saturday now she had committed to working in lieu of paying rent. Most likely she’d saddle up very early before she started work.
It was worth adjusting her working hours to live in this apartment, she thought, looking around her with intense satisfaction. Yesterday she’d finished unpacking her stuff. She had her priorities right—she’d first unpacked the kitchen things. Not that she’d really needed to—the apartment kitchen was completely equipped with every tool and gadget she’d ever need, and more. This afternoon she’d decided to christen the top-of-the-line oven and cooktop.
One of the other things she loved to do in her own time was to bake. On the way back from Centennial Park she’d gone shopping and stocked up on everything she’d needed for a bake-fest.
The oven timer went off and she pulled out the two pies she had baked from scratch. There was something particularly satisfying about making pastry—she got a kick from kneading, crimping edges and forming pastry leaves to put on top. She set the pies to cool on a rack and stood for a long moment critically examining them.
Should she or shouldn’t she? She had baked the extra pie with Declan in mind. One for him, the other to share with Lynne and Keith. But she’d assured him she would respect his privacy. Would he consider a text to ask him could she deliver a ‘thank you’ pie a breach of her promise?
While the pies were cooling she showered and washed her hair to get out the smell of horse—she’d groomed Flynn after their ride. She adored the earthy warm smell of the big animals she loved. She suspected Declan might be rather more fastidious.
Once dressed in pink jeans and a pale pink shirt with a cream sweater slung around her shoulders—all gifts from Lynne, who was always trying to get her to dress in a more feminine manner—she texted Declan.
Can I see you?
His reply took a few minutes to come back.
Sure—come to the back door.
She wrapped the pie with its golden, buttery pastry crust in one of the beautiful French tea towels she’d found in a kitchen drawer.
It was only when she stood at his back door waiting for Declan to open it that she seriously began to question the sanity of baking a pie for her boss.
* * *
Declan was surprised to hear from Shelley so late on Sunday afternoon. He was not long awake, having had to catch up on some sleep after the Estella marathon. He’d only just started his workout in the basement gym and normally wouldn’t tolerate interruption.
He threw on a sweatshirt over his bare chest. Perhaps it was an emergency in the apartment that needed his attention, he told himself as justification for breaking his no-interruptions rule. As an excuse for the brightening of his spirits when he’d seen her name flash up on his smartphone.
He was even more surprised to see her at his door bearing the most amazing home-made pie. Apple, he guessed, if the enticing aroma was anything to go by.
She held it out to him on both hands like an offering.
‘I wanted to thank you for letting me live in the apartment it’s fabulous and I can’t believe my luck to be living there,’ she blurted out.
‘You don’t have to cook for me,’ he said and immediately regretted it when her face fell.
‘I wondered if it was...appropriate,’ she said, biting her lower lip. ‘You mentioned you liked mulberries. Mulberries aren’t in season so I couldn’t get you mulberries. I’m hoping apple and raspberry might be acceptable. I had to use frozen raspberries because they’re not in season either but they’re very good and—’
‘Shelley,’ he said. ‘Stop. I’m delighted you made me a pie. It was just...unexpected.’ He took it from her hands. It was warm to the touch. ‘Thank you.’
‘Just out of the oven,’ she said. ‘An oven that’s a very good one, by the way.’
‘Come in,’ he said.
‘Oh, no, I shouldn’t, I—’
‘Please,’ he said. The realisation he had no one to share the creation of Princess Estella with had made him feel...lonely.
He was also surprised to see Shelley all dressed in pink. Pretty, girly pink. She even wore jewellery, a chain holding a silver horseshoe that rested in the dip of her cleavage. Lucky horseshoe. He didn’t know why he had assumed she would always dress in mannish clothes. Perhaps he’d forced himself to think too much about Shelley as warrior instead of facing up to his attraction to Shelley as woman.
‘Okay,’ she said and followed him inside.
During the major renovation of the house the back had been opened up and a family room and what the architect had insisted on calling a ‘dream kitchen’ had been installed.
‘Wow,’ she said as she unashamedly looked around her. ‘This is an amazing space.’
‘It’s hardly used,’ he said.
‘Shame,’ she said. ‘That’s truly a dream kitchen for someone who enjoys cooking.’
So the architect had got that one right.
Most of the house wasn’t used and was quiet and still with air unbreathed. He couldn’t bear to go into the rooms he’d shared with Lisa. They’d been closed off for two years. He’d never gone into the nursery they’d prepared with such hope. But he wouldn’t let anyone clear it. His life in this house was confined to his top-floor workspace, the turret room and the gym with occasional forays into this kitchen.
And now Shelley had brought a shaft of her particular brand of sunshine with her into this too large, too empty, too sad house.
He carried the pie over to the marble countertop and put it down.
‘I’m going to have a piece right now while it’s warm,’ he said. ‘You?’
She shook her head. ‘I baked another one to share with my sister and her fiancé. I’m having dinner with them tonight.’
Any thought of asking her to join him for dinner—to be delivered from a favourite restaurant he hadn’t actually set foot in for two years—was immediately quashed. It was a stupid idea anyway. He reminded himself it was more important than ever to establish boundaries between them now she was living on site, so to speak.
He took out a plate, a knife to cut the pie and a fork with which to eat it, and served himself an enormous slice. Then pulled up a stool at the breakfast bar. Shelley took a seat two stools
